


Don't Leave Me Yet

by kahootqueen69



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, rated T for injuries, this is me wishing someone would care for me if something happened, this is ridiculously self-indulgent so mind your step, we're calling ourselves out in this chili's tonight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24935656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kahootqueen69/pseuds/kahootqueen69
Summary: They had been chatting about this and that and reminiscing on when they had first started dating when Francis noticed James wasn’t acting his usual way.ORThis is the most self-indulgent University AU I've written, please beware.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Kudos: 33





	Don't Leave Me Yet

James had been working a lot, lately. His new position as head of the art department of the university he and Francis worked at required him to get out of the house a lot for long hours, often not returning home until the odd hours—tired and worn through by attending art exhibitions of students or museum openings. Francis usually stays up to see to it he gets home alright, working on the papers for his history class to pass the time. Some days James gives him a call to let him know he shouldn’t wait up, though Francis would usually wake up anyway when he heard James come in.

James got home from another art exhibit late at night, closing the door behind him and leaning back against it with a heavy sigh. He rubbed a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. Francis would be in their study, curled up in his chair and nestled in his favourite cardigan. Not that he had many to begin with, always wearing the same damn things—James had often tried to get him shopping to get other items of clothing than those blasted cardigans, but Francis wouldn’t hear any of it.

James put his shoulder bag down in the hallway and shrugged off his coat, making his way towards the kitchen to pour himself a cuppa, leaning against the kitchen counter. Francis must have heard him pattering around the kitchen, his hands sliding around James’ waist and his tummy pressing against his back, the soft press of a kiss to his neck.

‘How was it?’

James hummed appreciatively, his eyes drooping closed, melting into Francis’ touch. He sighed softly, ‘Same as usual, though it had some interesting pieces.’

‘More of those statues that you like?’

‘Mmh, one or two.’ He paused, then; ‘Franklin was there, too. Going on and on about how ‘God’s grace had blessed this kid’ and that ‘His blessing would surely get us through the hardships’,’ James huffed.

‘Mmm, sounds like our man,’ Francis muttered. He had never particularly liked the man.

Franklin was the head of the entire institution they worked at, though not a very good one. An insanely religious man and totally incompetent to lead them through the university’s current crisis—that he had put them in, for Christ’s sake! A blunder at a certain charity event that had cost them funding they desperately needed, trying to cover it up and somehow succeeding to make the situation even worse than it had been—that, and the constant raving on about God and how He would get them through their crisis—hadn’t really put Franklin in a good light with Francis.

Francis pressed his nose to James’ neck, dropping another kiss there. ‘Are you sure that cuppa is a good idea, given the time? I imagine you must be tired.’

‘Mmh, I’m sure you’re right.’ He put the mug and coffee away, turning around in Francis’ arms. ‘Tell me about your day?’

Francis snorted out a laugh, ‘I’m not sure how exciting grading papers about the history of tea and leaves is.’

‘Oh, indulge me,’ James grinned crookedly.

‘Mmn, alright. I’ll tell you while we get ready for bed, you look like you’re about to fall asleep right here in my arms.’

James rolled his eyes, but let Francis lure him to bed with a kiss anyway. Francis barely made it a quarter through his recounting of the day before James was fast asleep, passed out on top of the blankets.

***

Francis had woken up in the early hours the next day to find James’ side of the bed empty. It took him a couple of seconds to hear the sound of James’ retching, and shot upright. Rubbing a hand over his face he had rolled out of bed and put on his slippers, searching the wall for the light switch.

‘Oh Christ—James?’

‘I’m—Bathroom—’ James had managed to utter before another wave of retching had taken over.

Francis had muttered a series of curses before his fingers finally brushed over the switch, turning on the lights. He found James kneeling in front of the toilet, looking pale as a corpse and shaking all over.

‘Must’ve—eaten something wrong,’ he managed weakly, a sad little smile curling his lips.

Francis had rubbed his back through the waves of nausea, held back his roguishly long hair. ‘You’re taking the day off, and so am I. You’re in no state to care for yourself.’

James had tried to protest but it was no use, Francis’ mind was made up in situations like these.

James had spent the rest of the day in bed while Francis made sure he was doing okay, making them breakfast and lunch to eat in bed, putting on a movie to watch. After a nap or two James claimed he was feeling much better, and dared to eat dinner downstairs.

He was still feeling a little shaky the next morning but managed to convince Francis he would be alright, and both went off to work like usual again.

***

A week had passed since that little incident, and James was back to feeling normal. He had gotten a nasty cold, though, but nothing that kept him from going about the day as usual.

James had crept up on Francis when he was making breakfast that Saturday morning, pressing kisses to the freckles on his shoulders that peeked out from under his shirt. Those freckles have always been a favourite of James—he’s spent many a night giving those spots some extra attention.

‘Morning, handsome,’ he murmured in Francis’ ear.

‘Morning to you too, gorgeous.’

James positively purred in Francis’ ear, his hands gently kneading at his soft tummy. ‘Today’s a very special day.’

‘Really? Is it £5 margarita night at Chili’s?’

James gave him a light shove with his elbow, which did nothing to hide Francis’ grin. ‘You brute.’

Francis only chuckled, turning his head a little to kiss James’ cheek. ‘Happy anniversary, you cheek.’

James hummed happily, dropping more kisses to Francis’ shoulders and neck, sliding his hands under his shirt, and then his waistband, and—

‘Oh!’ Francis hissed sharply, followed by a soft moan.

Breakfast was postponed for a little while longer.

***

They had made plans to go out for dinner that night. Francis was calling to confirm their reservation, while James was doing his hair and putting on his best suit. He always made sure to look good—it was important to do so for his clients and when he got invited to the numerous exhibitions and openings—but he always made an extra effort for Francis on special nights like these.

His cold hadn’t gone yet, in fact it was at its peak. _Just when today’s special, of course,_ he thought. He was feeling a little peaky but assured Francis it was nothing to cancel their plans over, he’d just put something a little warmer on and he’d be fine.

‘They’ve still got our special table,’ Francis smiled as he joined James in the bathroom. ‘Made sure to ask.’

James looked at him in the reflection of the mirror while doing his hair and smiled. ‘Perfect. I’m almost ready, do you need anything?’

‘Only you,’ Francis grinned and leaned in to steal a kiss.

***

Francis put the car in park and stepped out to hold the door open for James, offering him his hand.

‘A true gentleman,’ James grinned, earning him a wink from Francis.

The restaurant was only a couple minutes’ walk from their parking spot, but James wrapped his coat around him a little tighter anyway. Francis held out his arm for James to take, resting his head on Francis’ shoulder while they walked.

It really was a special night, there were more stars in the sky than usual— _As if they’re shining just for us,_ James thought. Francis dropped a kiss to his hair, stroking his thumb over James’ knuckles.

They took their special table at the restaurant, the one that overlooked the fields at the back of the building. It’s a beautiful sight—Francis; illuminated by the candles with such a backdrop, _it’s just stunning._ Francis had ordered a steak for them both with a crème brûlée for desserts—their usual order. After eating here for the first time they had both agreed this was the best place to get it.

They had been chatting about this and that and reminiscing on when they had first started dating when Francis noticed James wasn’t acting his usual way—James was never one to let his food grow cold, though now he’s shoving most of it around a bit. He didn’t mention it to James during dinner, it wouldn’t do to spoil things on a nice night like this. He seemed to enjoy himself, after all. Maybe James just didn’t have that big of an appetite tonight.

Francis watched James shove his food around for a good while, puzzled by his behaviour, but things changed when James was staring at his crème brûlée, not seeming to register it when Francis first called his name.

‘James?’ Francis tried again, louder this time.

James’ eyes snapped up toward Francis, though it seemed like he was looking right through him. Francis frowned, _he’s looking very pale all of a sudden, actually._

Francis reached his hand out on the table for James’. ‘James? Are you feeling alright?’

‘Hmm? I—Yes. I uh—Actually, I think I might need to go to the restrooms—’ James stood abruptly then, knocking his chair back into some other person’s chair. ‘Oh Christ—I’m sorry—I—’

Everything that happened next seemed to pass in slow motion. James’ knees buckled and he stumbled into their table, and Francis shot to his feet, looking absolutely horrified. He could see James’ eyes rolling backwards as he fell to the ground, hitting the back of his head hard on the edge of the chair he knocked over, and then on the floor.

‘James!’

Francis practically flipped the table to the side to kneel down beside him, frantically trying to wake him while other people watched in horror to what had just happened, whispering things to their partners. Francis didn’t hear any of it. He looked up in a panic as he cradled James’ head in his lap, yelling for someone to call an ambulance in that commanding voice of his.

It felt like an hour trying to wake James before the paramedics finally arrived. They ushered Francis aside, sticking all kinds of stickers on James and needles in his arms, pressing and pulling and twisting and turning at every part of his body, trying to figure out what was wrong with him. Francis could only stare, feeling utterly helpless and alone—like someone had ripped out the spot in his heart that James resided in and left only an endless void there.

They examined James’ unconscious body for injuries and tried to help him as much as they could, looking at and using all kinds of instruments and other medical things. They asked all kinds of questions and Francis answered them all as best as he could. Did James have any kind of attack before this? Did he suffer from epilepsy? Had he had any previous injuries that might have caused his fall? Was he acting strangely leading up to tonight?

After doing as much as they could on the scene, the paramedics loaded James onto a stretcher and took him out of the building. If they hadn’t ushered Francis into the back of the ambulance with them when they loaded James in on the stretcher, he would probably have stood in that same spot in the restaurant, staring at nothing, like James had before he had collapsed. _Christ,_ that moment was already burnt onto Francis’ retinas, he couldn’t stop seeing James, falling onto the floor in front of him.

One of the paramedics started checking Francis over for any injuries while the other tended to James, and only then did it come through to Francis that his hands and clothes were stained with blood. _Oh Christ, oh Jesus—Oh Fuck!_ That was all James’ blood? It’s a wonder he even had any left. _My God, there’s so much of it._

Once the paramedics established that no, Francis didn’t have any injuries that needed tending, they could finally make their way to hospital and rush James into ER.

***

Francis was made to wait in a stifling little room when they wheeled James away on the stretcher. It had been hours since he had heard anything about James’ current situation. At first, they wouldn’t even let him wait in the relatives waiting room—mistaken him for someone else until he told them in a booming voice that James is his boyfriend, and that he wanted to see him. He had practically paced a hole in the floor by now, waiting for news.

He had named all of the dull colours of that blasted little room in his head, counted how many times the lamps flickered in a minute, ran through all possibilities he could think of about what might have happened to James. It did nothing to calm the thoughts running wild in his head.

Finally, after agonizing hours of waiting, someone came in to tell him they had stabilized James, and that Francis could see him now. He wasn’t conscious, and wasn’t a pretty sight, they told him. They had needed to pump him full of drugs in order to make it as painless as possible and do some testing, so Francis should be aware of that before he saw him.

When he opened the door and saw James laying in that hospital bed—hooked up to all kinds of machines and worse than ever, practically looking like a dead man—something broke in Francis. A small, defeated sound formed itself in the back of his throat. He walked up to James’ side and touched his arm lightly, a part of him scared his skin might feel cold to the touch, dead and gone. It didn’t, and Francis breathed a sigh of relief. James’ skin felt cold, yes, but he could feel some of his warmth lingering there still.

Sitting down heavily in the rickety little chair next to the bed, Francis covered his face in his hands and started sobbing. He had never cried like this, not even when his mother had died. _It must be the shock, surely._ Scared him half to death.

He waited for hours in that little chair, ignoring the growing ache in his back, stroking his thumb over James’ too still hand that was usually always fretting over things, waiting for him to regain consciousness, smile that stupid smile of his. He had thought of so many things to say to him if he did— _when he did._ He would wake up. And he would be okay.

***

He startled awake when he felt something brush over his hand—he had left it laying on James’ bed, fell asleep like that. He had to orient himself for a moment, before recalling everything that had happened at the restaurant. His back protested at the long hours spent waiting in that damnable little chair when he pulled himself upright.

When Francis looked back at James, he found him staring at him with a wild, frightened look in his eyes.

‘James—’

James tried to speak, but nothing more than a short, hoarse sound came out before tears started spilling over his cheeks.

‘James! It’s alright—Shh, please don’t cry.’ Francis jumped upright, taking James’ hand in his own, bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss to it.

‘Francis—’ James’ breath hitched. ‘I’m sorry—I’m so sorry.’ He kept muttering apologies, muffled when Francis wrapped an arm around him and pulled him a little closer, James pressing his face to Francis’ shirt.

 _Christ—the shirt._ His clothes and hands were still covered in James’ blood. He had no other clothes to change into, hadn’t thought of it or washed his hands, and nobody had asked in the chaos. _Jesus._ James must have had the scare of his life when he woke up in a completely different place, the first thing he sees being Francis passed out in a little plastic chair, covered in blood.

‘It’s alright, James. I’m alright. I—You’re alright now.’ Francis wiped the tears from James’ face, cradling his head in both hands, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Francis whispered sweet nothings to him, tried to convince him that everything was going to be fine now. The blood wasn’t his own, Francis explained, told James it was his, but that the doctors had fixed it now. He got James to stop crying, calmed him down by making an awful joke that made the corners of James’ lips twitch into a small grin.

‘My head feels like it’s about to explode,’ James managed when he had calmed a bit.

‘I can imagine. You made a nasty fall.’

James swallowed harshly. ‘What—What happened, Francis?’

‘You don’t remember? Any of it?’

James shook his head, biting his lip when a particularly sharp pain made its way through his skull at the sudden movement. ‘I—I remember we went to the restaurant, but after that it’s all a bit—a bit blurry.’

Francis nodded, brushing his thumb over James’ knuckles. He’s got wires and tubes hanging everywhere, an IV running from his hand to a little sack of fluid, suspended by one of those medical poles you can wheel around.

‘You—You were fine at first, but then you seemed a bit absent, at some point. Not really eating, and not hearing what I said. And—and then you just—You wanted to make your excuses and go to the restrooms, but then everything went wrong from there. You just—fell. Christ, I—’ Francis had to look away, anywhere but James’ dark brown eyes or his sickly pale skin or the wires that went everywhere. ‘I saw your eyes roll back and I just—It was terrifying.’

When Francis could look up again, James had to look away from those bright blue eyes, shining even brighter with all those feelings behind them, all that hurt.

‘I ruined our night. Jesus, I wrecked the entire thing.’ James went to rub a hand over his face, yelping in pain when the IV pulled sharply on his skin and veins.

Francis shot forward to take his hand again, willing the pain away with his touch. ‘It’s alright, James! Don’t get worked up about it, please. You’ll only hurt yourself.’ He pressed more kisses to the back of his hand, stroking around the patch of the IV in hopes it would ease the tender feeling of his skin a bit.

‘It was our anniversary, for Christ’s sake!’ James cried, looking all the more horrified by the realisation.

‘I couldn’t care less what day it was, James! I’m just glad you’re alright now—Scared the living daylights out of me.’

James sagged back into the bed and pillows, screwing his eyes shut tightly before relaxing—just a little. ‘Do they know what it was, then? What caused it?’

‘I don’t know. They didn’t tell me much. Had to wait for hours until I could even come see you.’

James opened his eyes again and looked up at the ceiling. Boring white like everything else in the blasted room. The stark lights burning into his eyes even when he closed them. He nodded—carefully, this time—and sighed.

‘Just rest, James. I’m sure you’re feeling horrendous.’

James didn’t want to rest, he wanted to know what exactly had happened, what had caused it, what they could do about it. But his head hurt, unbearably so, and he was tired. So tired.

So James rests.

***

They had to wait days for the test results to come back. Now that James was out of immediate danger, Francis wasn’t allowed to stay after visiting hours and had to drive back and forth to see him, waiting together for hours at a time.

When they finally did get some answers, it turned out James had caught some virus or other. Usually nothing more than a cold for most adults, but since James had had such exhausting days before that, it had taken a bigger strain on him.

Eventually, James ended up staying in hospital for little more than a week—pumping fluids and drugs into him at a rate that wore him out more than the virus had. Most of the time when Francis was visiting, James was napping—passed out by the drugs. When he was awake they made the most they could out of it, considering the circumstances, playing cards or helping James with his exercises so he wouldn’t lose any more muscle strength than he already had laying in bed for entire days.

When the day came for James to go back home, he had insisted he walk out of the hospital on his own strength. That hope had quickly diminished when he couldn’t even get down the hall without having to lean on Francis’ arm, out of breath by the time they got halfway down the corridor. Francis had to wheel him out in a wheelchair, then.

Even the drive back home had worn James out, the only thing he desperately wanted was to get into bed—their own bed, finally. Francis had needed to help him walk up the stairs—taking them a good few minutes—and help him change into his pyjamas. He curled up to Francis as soon as he joined him, clinging to him like a lifeline, passing out almost instantly.

***

Francis had called into work, letting them know they were going to need more time off as James recovered. Their classes and appointments had been rescheduled at first. They were going to be cancelled, now. Franklin— _the absolute arse!_ Francis had yelled after he had hung up—hadn’t wanted to cancel them at all. It was only after Francis had given him a thorough lecture on the subject, on his ridiculous ways of leading the university, and threatened that they would both quit their work if he didn’t. He had quickly changed his tune after that.

It had taken a lot of time and exercise until James was starting to feel back to normal again. All with Francis’ care and unwavering confidence in him.

Every day, Francis had made them breakfast to start their day, taking it up to their bedroom so James could wake up slow and easy, save his strength for his exercises. During the early days, Francis would help James take careful steps around the bedroom, help him into the tub and wash up. As James made progress they could slowly start going down the stairs, have their lunch at the kitchen table and make their way back up towards their bedroom. They always reserved the afternoons for James’ nap, letting him recharge a little before having dinner.

James’ mental health had taken a hit, unsettled by what had happened and the frustrations of having to recover from it. He hated the mood swings most of all. He loved Francis, and resented not being able to return his love and care in the way he used to, which added to his low spirits. Francis would be doing something nice for him, and James would appreciate it, but couldn’t help feel guilty about it, putting him in a mood, which would result in Francis doing more kind things for him—it was a vicious cycle he couldn’t seem to break out of.

It had gotten better bit by bit as he recovered, being able to do more. When he had gotten some of his strength back and was able to be on his feet for more than a minute, he had loved making coffee for Francis, just the way James knew he liked. It was the little things that he could do that made him feel better about their situation, slowly improving his mindset.

Despite everything, James had recovered admirably, regaining his strength faster than either of them had thought. But the fall he had made had left a nasty wound on his head, and had left him with a small crack in his skull and fifteen stitches. That had taken a lot longer to recover from.

It had been a tough couple of months, but they’d made it. James rarely needed an extra nap anymore, and had gone back to work. He still got headaches to this day as a result of the skull fracture, sometimes getting as bad as migraines, leaving him unable to work for the day. On days like those, Francis would call in and stay at home with James, make sure he’s feeling okay—as okay as he can when having a migraine, anyway—and do his best to make it as tolerable as possible for him.

They made sure to readjust their schedules, working fewer hours so James had less of a workload to go through, which had led to him being incapacitated in the first place, and work on the same days—meaning they’d have their days off together. One of those days they had been sitting in their little garden, playing cards, letting the sunlight warm them. They had abandoned their card game a little while ago, James dozing lightly in the shade while Francis read his book.

‘You know—’ Francis had started, putting his book down.

‘Mmh?’ James peeked at Francis through one open eye to find him admiring James with an affectionate look.

‘We should do something special. To celebrate you feeling better.’

James had pushed himself up a little straighter, smiling softly. ‘Mm, if you’d like.’

They hadn’t been out after the incident. With James’ recovery there hadn’t been time or opportunity, and James had wanted to take it easy for a little while. They had, and decided it would be nice if they tried it again—their own way to get some closure, if you will.

And so it happened that on this Saturday night, they found themselves standing in front of the restaurant where it started.

James had been very anxious the entire car ride, fidgeting with his hands and twirling strands of hair around his fingers, biting the inside of his cheeks. Now that they were about to enter he was reconsidering their options multiple times.

‘We can still turn around, they’ll give the table to someone else.’ James was gripping Francis’ arm, nerves written all over his face.

Francis had been incredibly patient with him, which James appreciated immensely. He gave him a sweet smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. ‘It’ll be fine, James. It’s not like we come here every weekend.’

‘I know, but—No doubt a thing like that will have my face imprinted on their memories.’

‘That might be, but I’m sure they all know it’s not like you did it on purpose, James.’ Francis gave his hand a soft squeeze and a reassuring smile. ‘Once we’re at the table it’ll feel a lot less intimidating, I promise.’

James had taken a deep breath and nodded, practically digging his fingernails into Francis’ jacket.

Francis had done everything he could to make James feel as at ease as possible, pampered him a little throughout the day and suggested James wear one of his better looking cardigans—After James had gotten home and recovered a little, he had started borrowing Francis’ cardigans to wear, to feel more at ease. James had taken great comfort in them time and time again, and did so again now that were led to their table.

Francis ordered the steak for both of them, but left out the crème brûlée. The steak would be enough for James to get through with all those nerves and anxiety rushing through his body, and Francis didn’t want to prolong that unnecessarily.

James was picking nervously at a thread hanging loose from one of the sleeves of the cardigan while they waited for their food, looking around for any hint of recognition with a slightly frightened look in his eyes. Francis reached out over the table and took the hand worrying at the thread.

‘You’re going to fray the entire thing if you keep that up.’

‘Hm?’ James snapped his head back towards Francis. ‘Oh—I’m sorry—’

Francis shook his head with a soft smile. ‘Don’t fret over it. It’s going to be alright, James. No one is going to look at you strangely.’

‘Sorry—I mean—I’m just a little nervous, is all.’

‘I understand.’ He takes James’ hand and brings it up to his lips for a kiss. ‘Just try to keep your eyes on me, hm? Talk to me about those statues you love.’

James snorted softly, a grin curling his lips. ‘Are you sure that’s not too vague for you?’ he chuckled.

‘It might be, but I like hearing you talk about the things you like.’

‘Well, alright then.’ James smiled softly, a blush creeping up his cheeks.

They had talked all night about those statues. James was a little apprehensive at first, still full of nerves, but his enthusiasm for art quickly took over. Francis had thought the university had made a great decision when appointing James as head of the department, then. He had listened attentively and asked questions about this and that, nodded in agreement and admired the photos James showed him on his phone.

They had made their way through their steaks in no time. When the waiter asked if they wanted a dessert Francis had looked to James, who shook his head with a soft smile. ‘I’m quite ready to go home, actually,’ he had said. And so Francis had taken him home.

During the car ride home, James’ eyes had been drooping closed constantly—the exhaustion that came after that anxious energy burst from earlier finally catching up with him—and he had grinned sheepishly whenever he startled awake again. Francis found the entire thing quite endearing.

When they had gotten home and changed for bed, done their nightly routines and curled up in bed, Francis had pulled James close, pressing kisses to his face and neck and shoulders.

‘Mmn, Francis… As much as I love your sweet attentions, and how nice tonight turned out to be, I think I’m really a little too tired for—’

‘No, don’t worry. This is purely for myself,’ Francis murmured.

‘Is it now?’ James grinned, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

‘M-hm, ‘tis.’

Francis wrapped his legs around James’ and pressed his nose to his neck, keeping him close, breathing in his scent. His hands settled on James’ hips, rubbing circles into his skin with his thumbs.

‘You really are a wonder, James Fitzjames,’ he murmured to his skin.

James frowned, brushing a hand through Francis’ hair before pressing a kiss to it. ‘What’s all this, then?’ _He’s never this clingy._

Francis gave James’ hips a squeeze, sliding his hands over his skin to the dip in his back. ‘I think it’s really all just settling in. And I realized I don’t tell you I love you enough. I can be a right old grump.’

‘Oh, Francis… You don’t have to tell me you love me, I see it in your actions every day. Look at all you’ve done for me over the past two months.’ James dropped another kiss to Francis’ hair, starting to gently rub his back—as he knew Francis loved. ‘You are a ridiculous old man, you know that?’

Francis only made a soft noise, pressing his nose further to James’ neck.

‘Francis?’ James whispered softly.

He brushed Francis’ forelock out of his face with his nose, huffing a laugh upon seeing Francis’ eyes had already drooped closed. Soon, his soft snoring could be heard.

 _Absolutely ridiculous, and just as wonderful,_ he had thought with a smile, and fell asleep in Francis’ arms.

***

Francis woke up to smell of bacon and an empty bed.

He made a small noise, a grin curling his lips. Sliding his feet in the new slippers James had gifted him after he had been well enough to go back to work, he pattered his way downstairs and towards the kitchen.

James had thrown one of Francis’ cardigans on and was making breakfast. He felt Francis’ hands slide over his tummy and his lips pressing a kiss to his hair, and smiled.

‘Stealing my cardigans again?’ Francis had murmured against his neck.

‘It’s not stealing if you’re my boyfriend,’ James had grinned in return.

‘Mmn, is that so?’

‘M-hm.’

‘Alright then.’ Francis dropped another kiss to James’ neck, softly squeezing his tum for good measure. ‘What’s cookin’ good lookin’?’

James snorted out a laugh. ‘Bacon. And eggs. And maybe some kisses if you’re nice.’

‘Oh, I’ll be sure to be a good boyfriend then,’ Francis grinned.

James turned his head and smiled, and leaned in to kiss him. ‘I bet you will.’

Francis gently swayed them on their feet, watching over James’ shoulder as he made breakfast, pressing sweet kisses to his skin from time to time, and told him he loved him.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist making that Taking James Fitzjames To Chili's reference I'm sorry (I am absolutely not sorry)


End file.
